Monday, July 31, 2006

I am The Luckiest.

I love music. I love the way an instrumental piece can soothe away your stress, or get your heart revved for the next action sequence in a movie. I've always been a huge audiophile, a fact that many times over got me in trouble as a young girl since rock music is the Devil according to the Baptist ministers my mother listened to.

Anyhow, now that I am The Decider when it comes to what is and is not acceptable for my ears to listen to, I have been venturing out and sucking in all I can from all types of tunes. I'm not the type of person to just listen to the beat of a song and decide if I like it from that (although I do like some songs just for the beat, and the message could use some improvements - Sean Paul's "We Be Burning" comes to mind in that category). I usually listen to the lyrics and every now and again, I hear something that comes along and bitchslaps my heart. Like this little song by Ben Folds with a simple piano background paired with gorgeous, lush strings. I heard it and the lyrics resonated with my heart so strongly. When it comes to my marriage, my husband, and the family we have created together...I truly am The Luckiest.

I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

What if I'd been born fifty years before you
In a house on a street where you lived?
Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?

And in a white sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you

Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away

I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Really? Is jail all we can do to these people?

Maybe you're a long time friend of mine that reads my blog to keep tabs on what's up with my life. Maybe you're a new friend of mine who decided to read my blog after noticing it on the signature of my emails. Maybe you're a complete stranger who just stumbled in here. Whatever the situation, or our history, I'm not afraid to be open.

I am an adult survivor of child sexual abuse. I'll spare you the gory details at this time, but I will share that the abuse was done to me at the hands of a trusted and beloved family member. It took me about 6 years to reveal to anyone what had happened to me...unfortunately, 7 years is the statue of limitations on this type of crime in Illinois. By the time I did tell someone, I was forced to do so. I was in such a deep depression as a pre-teen that I was suicidal. When I revealed that I wanted to take my own life, I was pressed by a social worker at my school as to why and it finally all came out. My parents had a year to do something about it before the law ran out on me. They chose to never report it. They chose instead to protect the family member by keeping it a secret.

I can never forgive them for that betrayal.

I was a child, and I needed them to stand up for me. I needed them to fight for me, to make sure I knew it wasn't my fault and that I didn't do anything wrong. I needed them to make sure that the person who did do something wrong to me paid for it. But they didn't. They did nothing. Actually, at first they called me a liar. Then they telephoned the accused family member and asked him if what I had accused him of was true. And he readily admitted it. But still they chose to do nothing. As far as I am concerned, those who do nothing when crimes are committed against their children are equivalent to accomplices in those crimes. Maybe they didn't rob the bank, but they drove the getaway car.

By the time I had matured emotionally enough to face these demons, I was in my 20's. I put myself into an intensive therapy program. I addressed my relationship with my parents, which by at that point had truly been damaged beyond repair but I was bent on trying to rescue it. I addressed my feelings towards my abuser. I tracked him down and found that he had been arrested on separate charges, 9 counts of criminal sexual assault of a minor. He had been sentenced to 23 years in prison, but only ended up serving less than half of those years, due to changes in the Truth In Sentencing Act that went into effect after his incarceration. My abuser was released from prison about 2 weeks after I met my husband. During that time period, I was dealing with all the emotional ramifications of knowing my abuser was going to be free again. I had to be honest with someone I didn't know very well about an incredibly sensitive subject. At this point in our courtship, it was so early I figured I'd just put it out there. If he wanted to run away from me because of this I was OK with that. I needed a man who was going to be there for the tough stuff. So I told him. I told him what happened to me, I told him how my parents reacted, I told him how my abuser was arrested later on separate charges (and I consequently was riddled with guilt and felt that those other victims were somehow my fault for not reporting his abuse sooner), I told him how I was now grappling with the emotional fallout of knowing my abuser would soon be a free man having "repaid his debt to society". Tim's reaction was one of acceptance. He didn't pity me, which I would have hated. He felt sympathy for me and let me cry and promised his support during this difficult time. We got through it together.

So, that's my background in sex crimes against children. Anytime I read a story about children being hurt, especially being sexually abused, it just breaks my heart. I've worked through my issues in therapy and I don't continuously suffer as acutely as I have in the past. But it still makes me cry. For just a moment, I am instantly transported back to that cold room with the blue paint. I am helpless and alone and being violated but scared out of my mind to cry out for help. All those old feelings and fears and hurt come rushing back in a moment, and I feel such empathy for the victims I'm reading about.

Like these kids:

CINCINNATI, Ohio (AP) -- A woman who molested at least one of her five children and prompted four of them to have sex with each other has been sentenced to 40 years in prison.

Robin Kraft, 26, had pleaded guilty in June to two charges of rape and four counts of child endangering. Hamilton County Common Pleas Judge David Davis on Friday imposed the maximum sentence, saying Kraft should not be released from prison while she can bear children.

Prosecutors said the children have been psychologically harmed.

"These children were not beaten, there were no cuts or stabs, but the way these kids act now after living with this woman requires prolonged treatment to be normal, if ever," said Assistant Hamilton County Prosecutor Mark Piepmeier.

Prosecutors said Kraft and her husband, Paul Kraft, 32, sexually abused their four sons and one daughter, ages 1 to 6, in 2004.

In March, Paul Kraft received five life sentences on five rape charges and 96 additional years on 12 charges of pandering sexually oriented material involving a minor. He is ineligible for parole.

Prosecutors say Paul Kraft encountered an undercover Secret Service agent last March in an Internet chat room called "baby and pre-teen sex."

In an online exchange, Kraft offered to rape his 3-year-old daughter live on the Internet if another person would do the same so Kraft could watch, prosecutors say. The agent contacted Hamilton County sheriff's deputies, who arrested Kraft at home.

The children were placed in foster care. They had limited language skills at the time, but developed enough to tell authorities what happened to them, prosecutors said.


Stories like this just kill me, and I feel all my resentment towards my abuser for getting away with such a light penalty rushing back, filling my veins with seething anger. As far as I'm concerned, all of these penalties that child sexual predators get are light. There is no penalty harsh enough, no payment deep enough, no pain soul-crushing enough to properly punish these offenders for what they do to a child's heart.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Dear Dogs, did you have to eat my entire lunch?

I love Bella and Katie. They are really good dogs for the most part. They love to play and are very affectionate pets. They're fairly well behaved with the exception of liking to jump up on people to greet them and pulling on the leash when something interesting grabs their attention. Bella makes some pretty stinky farts, and last night Katie belched right in Tim's face and that was pretty funny. So they're gassy, like to jump up on you to say hello but for the most part, they're really good pets.

Today I wrote out a very long list of chores I should do to ready the house for a weekend of relaxing. After washing & putting away dishes, tidying up the kitchen, making 2 gallons of crystal light and 1 gallon of iced green tea, I realized it was 1:00 in the afternoon and I still haven't had lunch. I had a leftover taco from dinner out this week with hubby, so I tossed that in the microwave and drained and rinsed a can of peaches and served some of those with a scoop of cottage cheese for myself. I set my plate on the dining room table and then ran to the kitchen to fetch myself something to drink with my lunch. I had my back turned maybe all of 45 seconds. But that was all the time my Dynamic Duo needed to push out my dining room chair, climb up on it, fetch down my steak taco and split it amongst themselves, then snarf down all my peaches and nearly all of my cottage cheese. When I got back to the table, I couldn't even react because I was so stunned. The Gruesome Twosome had tag-teamed this operation so quickly and smoothly that they were nearly licking the plate clean and off to lie on the couches with full bellies before I even returned to the dining room! I couldn't even yell or get mad, I was so shocked. I just did that surprised, upset *GASP* that you sometimes do, that sucks all the air out of the room. Two sets of eyes stopped their gulping and swung up to meet my shocked expression. And then they ran into the living room, while I barely had time to call out after them, "BAD DOGS! BAD DOGS!!!!"

Luckily, I still had more peaches and cottage cheese and yet another leftover meat selection in the fridge for me to serve myself. I was more upset because I had already began dosing myself with insulin to cover the meal I had prepared. Once you commit to the insulin by putting it in you, you can't take it back. It's already in you and you have to eat to use up what you just gave yourself or you'll end up having a hypoglycemic (low blood sugar) reaction that can be as severe as a seizure, a coma or even death. It's a very delicate dance of timing and balance to manage insulin dependent diabetes well.

I just hope the dogs don't get an upset stomach from the People Food they ate and end up getting sick on the rug or something. Because really, I have enough cleaning to do around the house. That list I made for myself this morning is pretty extensive. And I'm really not looking forward to the nasty doggie gas later that will undoubtedly follow their mid-day snack. Ugh.

Enough of my ranting though - I have to get back on top of my List Of Chores!

Thursday, July 27, 2006

So you gotta let me know should I stay or should I go?

My OB appointment today started out crappy, but ended OK. Going into the appointment, I knew I was going to have to have a discussion with the doctor because I had some residual resentment over stuff from my last few visits. I had actually done some preliminary research on doctors who were also in network for me that I had gotten good references on, because I was that upset. When I had my 18 week ultrasound, their sonographer was a jerk. She went on and on the entire hour long appointment telling me how I shouldn't even be there with her, I should be at a perinatologist getting a level 2 ultrasound and fetal echo cardiogram. Just railed and railed on me, how I was diabetic and I "shouldn't even be on" her table. My hubby & I were excited for our ultrasound because we were going to be seeing the baby & finding out the sex, but she made it miserable for us by basically giving me an hour long lecture, right up until the point where we were walking out the door! (I shut her up by saying "OK, I know, I'll go to the specialist too, I'll go!") Knowing I have to have many, many more ultrasounds with this person, I was actually thinking of changing practices because I don't want to see her again. Even my husband felt like we were getting reprimanded for being bad parents just for being there! As it turns out, it is the normal practice of my OB to have the level 2 ultrasound and fetal echo around 24 weeks, which I did a few weeks ago. So it was all this lecturing basically for nothing.

I was also upset because last time I was there, the doctor said he wanted to do an oral glucose tolerance challenge to check for gestational diabetes...and I was like "ummm, did you even look at my chart?" And then I showed him my insulin pump and he felt stupid. He's the head of the practice and it made me feel very uneasy. Diabetes in pregnancy is a big deal, and he really should have known that I had diabetes and am on a pump. So today I went in and the nurse had me do the regular pee test & weighed me and then SHE said "oh and we have to get you scheduled for the oral glucose tolerance challenge to check for diabetes" and I just about lost it. I was all "Were you NOT just reading my chart? Does my chart NOT say I have primary diabetes? Why would you have a DIABETIC PATIENT do an oral glucose tolerance challenge?!?!" I was starting to cry and hubby was all upset that I was upset. And she just said "I'm sorry if I said something wrong" and I explained that it's not that she said something to upset me, I was upset because what she said showed me that the staff there is totally incompetent and doesn't pay attention to very important details! I mean, how am I supposed to trust these people to take care of me and deliver my baby when they can't even read the big red letters on the front of my chart that says "DIABETES"? I wanted to leave. I just wanted to leave. I didn't even want to wait for the doctor to come in, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. And I'm bawling my eyes out, which pissed me off because my makeup came out really good today, and THEN she wants to take my blood pressure. And I'm like "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Don't you think it would be a LITTLE high right about now?!?!"

Anyways, so I got through the stupid nurse portion of the visit and when the doctor came in he was apologizing left & right for the nurse. I explained why I was so upset, that it wasn't the first time someone there asked me that and I was really scared that nobody is paying attention to what's in my chart, and something very important is going to get missed. And he showed me in my chart where it was written that I have diabetes and I am on an insulin pump, and they have records of all my endocrinologist reports and stuff. The nurse was just following their standard routine he said, but he had no excuse for the other doctor. We went over week by week what tests I am supposed to have when until the end of my pregnancy and he answered all my questions. And I told him about how much of an ass his sonographer was to us, and he said he would talk to her. He told me how she's one of the best in the state, blah blah blah and I said "well that's great, but that doesn't give her license to make me feel like crap."

There are 3 OB's in this practice and 1 nurse practitioner. And you have to rotate through all the doctors because one of them will be on duty when you deliver but you don't know who, they all take turns. But I only really LOVE 1 of the doctors, the one I saw today. The other one was OK but just not very personable and the head doctor was the idiot that told me he had to do a "boob check" and then wanted to do the glucose test. The fact that he called a breast exam a "boob check" really turned me off...I mean, when they are checking to see how far dilated I am in the hospital, is he going to call it doing a "cooter patrol"? Ugh. Anyways, we made it through the appointment without killing anyone, even though I really wanted to punch that stupid nurse in the head.

I still am undecided if I need to fire the practice or not. What do you think? Because "Esta undecision me molesta". Should I cool it or should I blow?

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Biore Pore Strips should be called "You Will Wish You Never Saw What Lives In Your Skin"

Have you ever used one of these strips? They're a neat little invention. A little paper strip onto which some gluey substance is adhered. You peel the dried gluey side off of a plastic sheet and slap it onto your nose while your skin is still damp after washing it. Then you let the strip dry until it feels like papier-mache on your nose, and you peel it off. The glue adheres to whatever junk you have in the pores of your skin, and when you peel the strip off all that gunk comes up with the strip.

I don't want to disgust the heck out of you, so I won't post a photo of what my strip looks like after I peel it off. I nearly hurled. What's repulsive is that you KNOW your face was "clean" when you put the strip on, because you just got done washing it. So whatever is on this strip isn't dirt or makeup. It's these insidiously disgusting yellowish wormy globs of repulsiveness stuck onto the glue part of the strip. And you peel it off, and even though you know it's disgusting and will turn your stomach to realize that this crap was LIVING IN YOUR SKIN, you have to examine every square millimeter of the strip. It's fascinating and disgusting all at once.

What is that crap that comes up on the strip, anyways? I want to tell myself it's just dead skin cells and maybe some sebum that ends up getting clogged in my pores but honestly I don't know. Is there junk like this in the pores of my skin all over my body? Because that thought is just nasty. The globs of junk look like little worms on the strip...what if they actually ARE some kind of parasitical creature, like those little mites that live on your eyelashes that nobody likes to think about? *shivers* It gives me the heebie jeebies!

I don't know what the junk in my nose pores is, but as long as I have access to those Biore strips, I will continue to perform weekly exorcisms of my nose pores with them. THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU! Get out of my skin, you disgusting worm shaped globs of nastiness!

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Someone needs to buy me this

It even matches my toaster! It's The Ex Knife Holder. I call it Functional Art.

Me and Angelina Jolie

Guerlain Divinora Deep & Matte Lipstick #480. It's been discontinued in the US, and it is the brand/color of lipstick worn by Ms. Jolie. And who doesn't think she has some damn sexy lips? May I submit to you the following, which we will call Exhibit A:

Mmm, yummy, sexy, full lips. They look "polished" and done, but not overly made up. This was the look I was going after. I have been on a quest to find the perfect Holy Grail of matte nude lipsticks for me. I wanted sexy Angelina lips.

My lips are sexy and full in their own right. I used to think I wanted collagen injections to plump them up just a little bit more. Now I think I must have been crazy. Getting my crown done on my front tooth changed how I feel about my mouth. I'm far more apt to smile broadly more often, even in pictures. Whereas before I got my crown done, I would go for the half-smile that didn't show my stained, chipped bonding job from when I was in 9th grade.

So I've been looking for this lipstick. Here are some of the lipsticks that I have purchased and returned in disgust:

Bobbi Brown Beige
Bobbi Brown Nude
Prescriptives Amaze
Bourjois Beige Eternalle
Laura Mercier Discretion

I think there were 1 or 2 more in there, but I've been on this quest for quite some time now and frankly, I've lost track of everything I have purchased and returned from/to various cosmetic counters at Nordstrom and Sephora. Thank God for generous return policies, I say. Make fun of my Costanza Wallet if you will, but at least I have all my receipts in the event I choose to return something.

Today, I sat myself down at the MAC counter in front of the gigantic display of what must be 300+ lipsticks. Somewhere in there, I told myself, is My Lipstick. I enlisted the help of the girls at the counter, who all proceeded to show me different tubes, swiping each on the back of my hands. The ones that looked decent on my hand, I tried on my lips. One after the other, they all were tried and none of them were what I was looking for. I wanted that look - that finished, done, clean, polished look that doesn't look like lipstick. It just looks like my lips are naturally phenominal. I didn't want a color that I had to wear lipliner underneath, I wanted a tube I could tuck in my bag, swipe on in a second and look instantly "done".

I think I may have found it. For all the beiges and nudes I was looking for, it turns out that My Matte Nude Lipcolor isn't beige or nude at all. It's a little bit nude, but mostly pinked mauve. My natural lips have too much color for a beige to look right on them. As it turns out, my coloring isn't the same as Angelina Jolie's. So what looks phenominal on her looked like death on me. I snapped a quick pic of me in my new lipstick, which I submit to you as Exhibit B:

Please note also the new cute fun hair, shorn quite short. Hubby calls it "Mom Hair". I call it "a dream come true". 2 minutes, 1 blowdryer and a palm full of volumizing mousse and that's all I need. I don't touch a brush or a comb or a second product. No styling tools required. Finally, a cut that works with my natural hair texture! And that look on my what happened when my screensaver turned on and scans of Jackson's ultrasound floated across the screen. That child fills me with GLEE and makes me want to DANCE A JIG.

So now Angie has her Guerlain #480 and I have my MAC lipstick. Which is appropriately named, by the way, Kinda Sexy. :D

Monday, July 24, 2006

There is a God, and He has heard my prayers and supplication

I LOVE ICE CREAM. Just so we're all clear on that, and there's no confusion about my statement, let me reiterate: I LOVE ME SOME ICE CREAM. I especially love ice cream on a hot summer day. I love ice cream in all flavors and varieties, but one flavor in particular is my absolute favorite. I love the Peppermint ice cream. But I have never understood why Peppermint is considered a "seasonal" flavor, and why that season is always during the winter.

Because really, when is it that you crave cold, creamy, minty refreshment? Is it in December when it's 10 degrees out with -15 degrees windchill? NO. It's July, when it's 95 degrees out with heat index of 105. That's when I want me a cone piled high with cold, creamy, minty goodness. But my beloved Peppermint is "Limited Edition" and "Seasonal", which means it can only be found until mid-January most years...clearly not into the "Minty Ice Cream Is Needed" months.

Until now.

The good people at Oberweis Dairy understand about needing mint in the summertime. ( They have made Peppermint a year-round regular flavor of ice cream in their shops, it is no longer seasonal! Imagine my shock when I saw it up on the flavor list. I asked "You guys still have some Peppermint left over?" assuming it was from December (I didn't care, I wanted it!). And the nice pimply faced clerk says "It's no longer a Seasonal Flavor, it's a year-round regular flavor." To which I replied what any girl would say when told that her most favorite treat on the planet was now available year-round, "I LOVE YOU!" I nearly jumped across the counter to hug the guy. I couldn't believe that someone finally "got" my Peppermint Ice Cream Theory. Peppermint Ice Cream in the's nice, I have it, but I always wish I could get some in July. Or April or September...and NOW I CAN.

I am filled with glee.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Screw you, Mr. Braxton and Mr. Hicks

Great googley moogley. These are the PRACTICE contractions?!?! Whose stupid idea was practice contractions, anyway? I've been riding the cotton pony on a monthly basis for what, now, 17, 18 years? I think I have plenty of experience with deadly cramps. I don't need any practice, warm-up cramps in my life.

And what's with the contractions and the kid ganging up on me? Why does my son want to kick my guts out JUST WHEN I'm doubled over in pain from the "pretend" contractions? Hmmm?

Hubster and I picked up supplies to handcraft some adorable thank you notes for baby gifts today. Of course, I can't do my part until Hubby does his...and he is the KING of procrastination. So we'll see if the cards ever come together.

Friday, July 21, 2006

I see you baby, shakin' that ass and I question your taste in music

My son likes to boogie. He gets down and gets funky, quite often, usually to any song with a heavy drum beat or bass line. It's cool when he likes the same songs I like. It's weird when he likes songs that I think suck monkey nuts.

For instance, he loves Rihanna's "S.O.S." You know, the tune peppered with a sample of Tainted Love? Baby Jackson digs on that. He also gets funky with Big Boi and Andre 3000. He likes "Hey Ya" and "I Like The Way You Move". He's also a fan of Daddy Yankee's "Gasolina". I tell him it's about how expensive gas is nowadays. He doesn't need to know at the tender age of negative 2 1/2 months. All these songs, I'm also a fan of, so it's fun to dance with my son when we hear them.

But Jackson also likes the Goo Goo Dolls. I mean, I think the Goo Goo Dolls are OK. Their name is weird. Reminds me of Goo Goo Clusters and Barbie Dolls, but whatever. Jackson doesn't just like ONE song by the Goo Goo Dolls, either. Any Goo Goo Dolls songs come on the radio, he dances. He also got down and got funky to Avril Lavigne's "Complicated". Um, WHAT? Here's the ultimate head scratcher - Red Hot Chili Peppers' Dani California. I hate that song. It's stupid, it makes no sense, it's not that good. But that stupid song comes on the radio, and my son gets down with his bad self. Have I taught you nothing, my child? Have you no standards whatsoever?!?!

Baby needs to start liking some John Mayer, James Brown, Madonna and Prince. Because Mom's just not having this Avril Lavigne and RHCP tomfoolery.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Family jewelry

I have the WEIRDEST dogs on the planet. I guess they complement how weird the cats are (see previous blog entitled "I don't get you, Cats." )

My dogs LOVE their collars. I call them their "Necklaces". When we got Katie, her collar was the first thing we bought her, along with a custom engraved tag with her name and phone number on it - you know, just in case. And I slipped it around her neck and told her "There you go! Now you're part of the family!" and she danced a jig around the living room.

Well, the girls' collars had grown a little ratty. They were also dirty with some nasty stank from playing at doggie daycare today. I had to stop at Old Knavery to return some maternity duds I ordered for myself that I got in the wrong size. Old Knavery has a new line of doggie wear. Doggie shirts, collars, leashes and toys. So I picked up some cute new necklaces for the girls while I was there, along with little tags with their initials on them. You know, girls need accessories. Accessories make the outfit after all, and since their necklaces are really all they ever wear...they needed the little fun charms too.

So we got home and I removed their old necklaces. Looks of panic crossed their faces. Necklaces only came off for one reason: BATHTIME. They already had bathtime on Tuesday, they protested. Not bathtime again, Mommy!

I slid their old ID's off their old collars and put them on the new ones. I added their cute initial charms for a personalized, accessorized girly touch and asked each dog to sit in front of me. They both quickly planted their butts and sat at attention, necks stretched. "Oh yes, Mommy! Put my new family necklace on me!" tails wagged with excitement and anticipation. So I clicked the new collars on each of them.

They're such dorks. They took off to the living room, circling each other, admiring each other's new gear. Now they're prancing around the house, doing the Pretty Pretty Princess Walk, showing off their new stuff with a sassy strut.

The moral of the story: All girls love jewelry. Including my dogs. They truly are their Mother's daughters! LOL :D

I don't get you, Cats.

Dear Cats,

What's your deal, anyways? You guys HATE the dogs. You avoid them at all costs. All they want to do is play with you and maybe help groom you a little. They don't bite, they really want to be your friends. But you want NOTHING to do with the dogs, you keep to yourselves in your little cat room all day long until the dogs are safely locked up in their crates for the night, then you come out to roam and frolic.

Except on days the dogs are at doggie daycare. On those days, you are FRANTIC. You won't shut the hell up. "Mrreow, mrreow, mrreow" you say to me while you passionately circle the dogs' crates. "Where are our puppies?" your purrs cry out. Why do you care? You don't like the dogs, they are your archenemies. You are only happy when they're locked up. Why are you so upset when they're not here?

Maybe they're the Yin to your Yang, and you're upset the Chi of the house is jacked up without them. I don't know. You guys are weird, you make no sense at all.

But fret thou not, I shall go get them and bring them home in an hour or so. And then you two can go back to hiding in your cat room. Freaks.


Wednesday, July 19, 2006

From stomachaches to getting kneed in the tummy

When hubby and I learned I was pregnant on the day before Valentine's Day, I couldn't have been more excited. It's been a long, hard road from my bad childhood to here - the land where I have everything I've always dreamed of. I seriously am so blessed. I have my dream life. I stay at home full time and take care of household matters, acting as full time Chief Operating Officer of Our House. I have two gorgeous, fun, sweet puppies and two very affectionate cats. I'm married to a handsome, successful gentleman who adores me. I mean, life isn't perfect, I still burn the toast every now and again, and problems do surface. But overall and especially compared to my previous incarnations, this life is amazing.

Just over three years ago I was stuck in a verbally and emotionally abusive marriage. I was trapped by my word, and by my ex husband's brain tumor. I mean, I could leave...but what kind of bitch leaves the guy with a brain tumor? I'm one tough cookie, but I'm anything but heartless. So I stuck it out, and prayed for a clean bill of health so we could both move on from a relationship that had grown toxic to both of
us. Both my ex and I are in much better places in life. He is enjoying a healthy relationship with a sweet single mom, and of course my life has progressed too.

The funny thing is, I certainly didn't expect to be sitting here today. When I left my ex, I had sworn off men, sworn off love, sworn off relationships...for GOOD. (Ha ha, we see how long that lasted). And one day, I finally grew tired of being alone and just wanted some good company for a change. I didn't want a sleazeball who only wanted to get in my pants. I didn't want a married guy who would give me all those same old lines "we've grown apart, my marriage is loveless, we're only together for the kids". I
just wanted a nice guy to sit and have a drink with. Maybe dinner, if he was worth spending more than 15 minutes on. And then I met Tim. And we had drinks, and dinner, and dessert, and I had to force myself to leave.

He was so compatible with me, and with what I wanted out of life. We both wanted a family of our own, we both discussed our desire to be foster parents and or adoptive parents some day. (Note: any guy who doesn't run screaming when you say "I really would like to be a foster parent someday" after they've known you for all of 15 minutes is QUALITY. Do not let that man go!) We both loved animals and were active in various volunteer organizations. We both shared a background and experience in IT. We talked about family, we talked about kids, we talked about SAP/R3 conversions. We talked about everything openly, our
divorces and where we were now emotionally. It's like God was looking down upon us and thought "Yeah, they're ready to meet each other now. Enough monkeying around with the other losers. Now they'll appreciate just how great a match I had in mind for them all along." And we do. We SO do. The minute I pulled away from the restaurant that evening, I picked up the phone and called one of my dearest friends. "I'm going to get married again" I declared. I just KNEW.

That was on November 9, 2004. We spent our first Thanksgiving together, volunteering at the Lincoln Park Community Shelter in Chicago where we prepared Thanksgiving dinner for 50 homeless people. It was so gratifying. We spent our first Christmas together a month later, at my cousins' Tracy and Mike's house. My cousins are so awesome. They love and accept whoever I love and accept into my life. I told them I was bringing Tim. Tracy had a Christmas
stocking up for him with his name on it in gold glitter with the rest of the family stockings, and my cousins all brought him gifts for under the tree so he wouldn't be left out when we were unwrapping. I mention my cousins' awesomeness because they did all this to welcome Tim into our family...and they had never met him before. They just knew that he was someone incredibly special to me. That night, Tim asked me to move in with him. I moved in January. On October 1st, he proposed in the kitchen and of course I said yes. I mean, we all knew I was going to say yes a whole paragraph ago. :) And that is how, on December 10th of 2005, one year, one month and one day after we first met, I found myself standing barefoot in a white dress on a pristine beach in St. Thomas, exchanging wedding vows with Tim. That palm tree in the middle of the picture? That's right where we were.

When we returned home from our honeymoon in paradise, we began trying to conceive in earnest. Neither of us wanted to wait any longer to realize our dream of having a family. We had both waited so long just to find each other!

So back to the morning of February 13th. I peed on the stick and waited. Two lines! TWO LINES! I was overjoyed and couldn't wait for my doctor to confirm my two lines. I already had a sneaking suspicion I was pregnant before I peed on the stick. My boobs were sore and I was constantly sick to my stomach. Little did I know that those stomach tickles then would lead to what I feel now.

The most amazing sensation in the world is feeling my baby move around inside of me. I love observing what gets him grooving. He likes the song "Hey Ya" by OutKast and Groove Armada's "I See You Baby" (not sure he gets the pun). He's his mother's child, loves to move to music. He loves fruit. He gets all happy and kicky when I have a peach sliced into cottage cheese. He loves his puppies, and kicks against their heads when they rest on top of him. He HATES bedtime (I hope this is not a sign of things to come!) and it takes him a good 1/2 hour to settle down after I lie down to go to sleep.

I can't wait to meet him. This little person inside me amazes me. He already has a personality, and looks and ideas and limitless potential. He's as individual as you or I. He already has his likes and dislikes, opinions and ideas.

Every day, I sit and rock with my belly. But for all my rocking, he's the one rocking my world.

Bored? Peep this!

I have several websites I hit when I'm bored to tears, most of them having to do with cute animals. I'll share them with you, cuz I'm nice!

I've recently added to my bookmarks Cats That Look Like
It's cats, and they look like Hitler. Most of them are black & white cats, which a wee black mark under their nose that resembles a Hitler-esque 'stache. The website calls them "Kitlers" which I think is freakin adorable. Also, both I and the makers of thoroughly denounce Hitler as a disgusting scourge on the planet.

I'm also a fan of Cats in Sinks, found at
It's photos of cats. And they are all in sinks. Apparently, cats LOVE sinks.

Those two sites should merge with Cats That Look Like Hitler In Sinks. That would be a huge hit. :)

Just when you thought the fuzzy wuzzies couldn't get any cuter, along comes It is what it says it is - an overload of cuteness. Click & say "awww!".

How do you decide who is cutest though? It's a really tough decision to make, because baby animals are all so adorable! Well, you're gonna have to choose one if you plan on visiting Two kittens, mano y mano. You must choose one. Who is cuter? Vote now!

Tired of kittens? Fine, pick the cutest puppy at Just try to deny the cuteness of this baby girl:

And this one:

And don't forget this one:

(Yes, those are my lab, Bella. She's listed on as "Bellapuppypants". And now you see why we named her Bella, she's just the prettiest puppy who ever lived - just don't tell her sister, Katie or we'll have sibling rivalry to deal with!)

Monday, July 17, 2006

Donde esta su Padre, mis perras?

Two sets of big, brown eyes are asking me tonight: "Momma, where is Daddy?"

For those of you who have never witnessed Bella and Katie interacting with their Daddy, I'll fill you in. These dogs LOOOOOOOVE Daddy. Nevermind that I take care of them all day, I make sure they have filtered, chilled water to drink. I walk them when they have to tinkle all day long. I buy them toys and treats. I make sure to always have a neverending supply of Greenies and pig ears on hand for them. I sign them up for doggie obedience. I take them to the park a couple times a week, and doggie daycare so they can play with their friends once a week. Day in and day out, I make sure their every need is taken care of. But when Daddy walks through that door around 6:30 pm every day, they're like "Mommy who?" and it's Party Time because Daddy Is Home!!! These dogs LIVE to cuddle, kiss, play with and snuggle their Daddy.

They know that the sun is setting outside, and by all accounts Daddy should be home by now. When I sat down to eat supper by myself, the confused questioning looks began. I got the confused puppy head-tilt with four giant brown pools of sadness penetrating their gaze of depression on me. "Where is Daddy?" they ask me.

They don't understand "Daddy's in Philadelphia because he had to move some servers for the new data center."

They don't understand "Daddy will be home in a few days."

They don't see the perks of "But while he's gone, you get to sleep with Mommy in the big bed!"

They just want their Daddy back.

Come back home, Daddy. Your Girls miss you.

Shit, it is hot.

The dogs and cats are out of food. Which ordinarily isn't that big a deal, as I will have hubby go with me to the pet food store to pick up gigantic bags of each. I get him to schlep them upstairs and into the pet food bins. I just keep track of the discount card and checkbook balance. Easy enough, right?

WRONG. Hubby left this morning for a required business outing to Philadelphia. So I say, SCREW YOU PHILADELPHIA. All of ya. Except the 4 people I know that live around there and are awesome. Everyone else, go to hell for taking my dog food schlepper away from me. And let's not even talk about how you hoard all the good cheesesteaks, soft pretzels and water ice. Ohmigod, water ice. I would kill or die for a giant cup of water ice right about now. But that Rita bitch is holding out on us. There are no Rita's in IL. The closest Rita's is in Ohio. I looked. Anyways...

It's like 100 degrees outside. I'm not exaggerating, check the weather. Currently 94 degrees, that feels like 106 with the heat index. But to the Pregnant People of the world, it feels like A MILLION. Ohmigod it's so hot. I can't believe trees are still standing upright, they should be wilted. So hot.

So since I like my pets and want them to eat, I truck off to the pet food store with the plan in mind that I will buy the "medium" sized bags of grub for them instead of the super mega huge sized bags just this once. The huge bags end up costing less per pound, but when I'm the only person to carry them upstairs with this gigantic belly in 106 degree heat...the medium size is just going to have to do until Daddy gets home with the muscles. I got the food, loaded the truck, came home. Parked, and decided that one very difficult trip upstairs with two bags of food was better than two slightly difficult trips upstairs taking each bag separately. Because really, I just wanted to get inside. The thermostat is 72 degrees right now, and I want air conditioning air on my skin. Like, NOW. So I stack the bags and head upstairs. Now keep in mind that this is only like 27 pounds of dog and cat food. It's not that heavy. It's really not. On an ordinary day, non-pregnant me could just throw this over my shoulder and trot upstairs like it was nothing. But oh dear Lord save me, if you saw me walking towards the house you would have thought I was Christ carrying his cross up the hill. Sweat poured from every pore in my skin. I could barely breathe. I felt light-headed and dizzy. I saw black, just fields of black with brightly colored lights. This cannot be good. I feel woozy. Oh good, I'm inside now. Ah, feel that nice cool air. I plop the bags of pet food down on the hall floor and collapse into the loveseat. Oh, shit I'm not supposed to lay on my back. So I peel my sweaty self off of the leather and rearrange my boobs and belly and sweaty feet to lie on my left side and gently close my eyes. Head spinning. Oh God, please don't let me die. This would be a crappy way to go.

You would think I just ran the Boston Marathon or something, the way I feel so exhausted now. I would like to take a nap, preferably in a giant tub of ice water. My legs feel like spaghetti and I knew one glass wouldn't cut it, so I just brought the entire Pur water pitcher from the fridge to the couch with my glass. Mmm, water. Like I said, you'd think I just ran a marathon.

Next time I should carbo-load before I go buy dog food. Ugh.

Shit, it is hot.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

It's a pantless revolution

So, last night I was home watching Dr. Phil on Tivo when Bella stepped on the remote. It stopped my Dr. Phil and sent me to live TV, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a WOMAN, IN A BEAR SUIT, STRIPPING.

It was the total "trainwreck" phenomenon. I was really into the Dr. Phil, but you can't turn the channel when it's a WOMAN IN A BEAR SUIT STRIPPING. I mean, can you? I could not look away.

*click click turn* The key turns in the lock and the doorknob spins...hubby's home, maybe I should change the channel. I mean, this is some weird shit. And yet, I can't. I have to keep watching the WOMAN IN A BEAR SUIT STRIPPING.

*creak, steps* Tim comes in down the hall, sets down his bag and looks at the TV.

Him: What is this?
Him: It's a WHAT?

He plants it on the couch and we proceed to watch the WOMAN IN A BEAR SUIT STRIPPING. They take it all off! The funbits are blocked out and those aren't shown on TV, but people go on this show to strip and dance naked. It's a real show. I thought maybe it was some weird special, but NO. I checked the TV came on like 4 times in a row!

We stayed up until midnight watching various people stripping on this show, called Pants-Off Dance-Off. There was a stripper who called herself a "dancer", had a bangin' body but was a total butterface. There was a Asian guy who called himself Masta Wong, was a pornographer by trade and was looking forward to his turn "in front of the camera for a change". There was this hideous woman, homely as all hell, with crazy Garth Algar (Wayne's World) hair who went on and on about how she used to be a mermaid, but traded in her tail for legs. But she gets a lot of work as a Mermaid, because they're so rare. It was so weird. It wasn't even sexy. It was just WEIRD. It was...A WOMAN IN A BEAR SUIT STRIPPING.

In case y'all think I'm lying, it's a real show. Pants-Off Dance-Off, on the FUSETv channel. Here:

Friday, July 14, 2006

All Your Snakes Are Belong To Us

You have no chance to survive. Make your time.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

The Name Game

You know what's intimidating as all hell? Naming a person.

There are so many things to consider. Names you like, names your partner likes. What sounds good for a childhood name, how that will convert into a good grown up name. Then if you're a people-pleaser (which I am, but I am determined to not be when it comes to this), you worry about what names your parents/in-laws/other family likes.

At first, I wanted a name that reflected my child's heritage. Then, I didn't care so much. At first, I was bound and determined to keep our chosen name shrouded in secrecy to avoid any potential nay-sayers. Now, I really don't give a flip what anyone besides me and my husband thinks. We were even determined to keep the sex of our child a secret, so we didn't have to deal with a million voices in our ears telling us what to name our baby. But now we've learned the sex and chosen a name, so I can confidently stride forward and reveal exciting things --

First - it's a boy. Or at least, that's what the ultrasound says. At first I was super hella mega upset, I thought for certain it was a girl and we both totally had our hearts set on a daughter. Now that we've had some time to absorb this huge change of events, we're excited to welcome our son to the world. It's great news for my little second cousin Christian, who was born last October and will be one when our baby is born. Christian will have someone close to his own age to play with and grow up with. We're hoping to move closer to my cousins in the South Suburbs in the coming year or so. I have such great memories of me and all my cousins getting together on Sunday afternoons at our Grandma's house. We played in the yard, and had cookouts, and watched baseball with our Tios in the living room and had menudo with our Tias in the kitchen. I would love for my kids to be as close to their cousins as I was to mine. Because I have some pretty awesome cousins. It's pretty bankable that they are going to raise some pretty awesome kids. It would be wonderful for my babies to grow up with the same loving bond I did with extended family. That would mean a lot to me.

Second - we have named him. Just so we're clear on this, that means that we're NOT open to name suggestions. Unless he's born and we look at him and decide that the
name we have chosen just does NOT suit him at all, we've already filled out that portion of the birth certificate. I don't think that's very likely, plus I really love the name we've chosen.

So, without further ado, please allow me to introduce you to our precious firstborn son, Jackson Phoenix.

The name Jackson doesn't really carry a lot of cultural or emotional weight with us, we just like the name. Jackson Powers sounds like an amazing grown up name. Jack is a cute little boy name. Jackson Powers don't take no shit offa nobody, cuz that's what his Momma taught him. I envision a tall, handsome guy in a well-tailored suit with a beautiful leather briefcase in hand, on his way to his job as CEO of Something. It's a very BAMF name.

The story behind our son's middle name is, in many ways, just as BAMFy. I had a very bad childhood.
I was abandoned as a newborn infant by my mother. She eventually came back, I think she was suffering from severe post partum depression. Wherever she disappeared to, nobody ever spoke of it. I think she thinks that I don't know this happened. All my life, she told me how she wished I had never been born & I ruined her life. She was very physically abusive to me and my brothers.

All I ever wanted was a family of my own. I wanted nothing more than to be a better mom than my mother was, a fresh start and a new beginning. So for me, the symbolism of the Phoenix is all about that - rising again from great struggles, victorious over them. In Chinese mythology, the Phoenix symbolizes virtue, grace, power and prosperity. To me, this child is far more than just my firstborn son. He is symbolic of a lifetime of my hopes and dreams fulfilled. He is my Phoenix, as I have risen from a lifetime of physical and emotional pain and hardship to where I am today. If that's not BAMFy, I don't know what is.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Puff Mommy and Fitty Cent - that's us

I'm so swollen, my swollen is swollen.

My toes used to be long and slender. My ex husband used to call me Monkey Feet, because my toes were so long and thin I could use them as fingers. Sadly, I am Monkey Feet no more. My toes look like Vienna Sausages now. My feet are so puffy, the only shoes that fit me comfortably are my Crocs and my Reefs. So sad. So, so sad. My fingers are so swollen, my beautiful beloved wedding rings have taken up residence in my jewelry box, gathering dust. That's right, kids. 3.25 cts of D in color, internally flawless gorgeous sparklies just sitting in my jewelry box. :( You know what I'm wearing right now as a wedding ring? I'm wearing Tim's old wedding band from when he was married to his first wife. It's like a size 9 1/2 or some tomfoolery like that. For these reasons, hubby has nicknamed me Puff Mommy.

Hubby has started experiencing an incredibly exciting phenomenon. He is the goose that lays the golden egg. Or rather, he is the man that shits quarters in his sleep. Two nights in a row now, he's woken up to find loose change underneath him. It's not like it's pocket change falling out either...he strips to his birthday suit across the room. So we have a naked man, who slides into bed completely nude, and wakes up with quarters under his ass. So I decided to start calling him Fitty Cent.

So that's us. We're rappers now. Puffy and Fitty. I'm off to go moisturize my situation - I need to preserve my sexy (see previous blog entitled "R.I.P.: My hotness". :D

Friday, July 07, 2006

R.I.P. : My hotness

There are some moms out there who manage to hang on to their bangin' bodies after pushing out the spawn. They buy and wear cute clothes and their hair is always "done" and their nails are freshly manicured and their make up is perfect.

I'm here to be honest, good citizen. I don't see myself being that kind of mom AT ALL. Nope. MILF territory is something that will be foreign to me.

I can tell already. I can tell as I push my cart in the store and nearly bump into the cute tanned boy who looks like he just got off his job as a lifeguard...I can tell by the way he totally disregards me as "female". I am no longer a lady to ogle. I've become this sad, sexless being, full of belly and breast.

I used to be cute. I still have a great smile and a not-hideous face. I swear! My complexion hasn't called a jihad on me and is still behaving well. I wield an eye kohl with artistry and dexterity.

But still, something about me has changed. Maybe I feel it more than others do. I'm still me and I'm still fairly non-disgusting looking, but I'm also not eligible anymore. I'm as ineligible as they get. I'm a married mom-to-be. It's somewhat sad to me, because I don't turn heads anymore and I used to. Guys don't look at me with that "hey sexy" look in their eyes anymore.

I miss that. I miss that a lot.

Don't get me wrong, hubby does notice when I'm done up and tells me how hot he thinks I am. And that's great and all...but it's always nice to know that other men think the same thing too -- the ones who are not legally obligated to think that.

Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape

I like some order to my day. My daily plan when I awoke this morning consisted of the following:

6:45 am: Take DH to Metra station
9:30 am: La Leche League Meeting
12:00 pm: Find lunch, or a reasonable facsimile
1:00 pm: Book hubby's hotel & rental car for his upcoming business trip
3:00 pm: Appointment with Doctor Asshole for insulin pump follow up
4:00 pm: Pack up internet shopping returns
5:00 pm: Drop off internet shopping returns at Post Office & hubby's POS broken Pocket PC at Fed Ex
5:30 pm: Pick up Girls from doggie daycare
6:00 pm: Pick up DH from Metra station
6:30 pm: Serve dinner (teriyaki chicken and brown rice with salad)
7:00 pm: Lollygag

What actually happened:

7:00 am: Take DH to Metra station, in huge mad rush because he overslept. Sucked down delish pina colada smoothies I made in 3 minutes before heading out the door. Yummy but rushy start to the day.
9:30 am: La Leche League Meeting that I skipped because I feel stupid going to one. I have no baby and I have no breastmilk YET. I will probably hit the August and September meetings so I have a breastfeeding support system in place just in case I have troubles and need help or advice.
12:00 pm: Throw together grilled cheese & tomato soup, snarf whilst being a mouse potato
1:00 pm: Book excellent rate at high end hotel for hubby and not so great rate on intermediate size rental car. Rental cars used to be $23/day. The best I could find was $65/day. Poop. Good thing the company pays us back.
3:00 pm: Appointment with Doctor Asshole for insulin pump follow up, he was actually nice this time and the visit was productive. Must consider new nickname for Doctor Asshole. Doctor Diabetes? Hmm.
3:30 pm: Find/capture/rescue stray cat that has been wandering neighborhood for months
3:45 pm: Take stray cat to shelter, learn he has a microchip and is a neutered male. Hope that shelter can find his People through the microchip.
4:00 pm: Learn stray cat's microchip is registered to an animal shelter in Wisconsin. Learn animal shelter in Wisconsin's phone number has been disconnected - a dead end.
4:30 pm: Leave animal hospital/doggie daycare/animal shelter with The Girls, leaving Stray Cat behind to be impounded. Heart broken. I wanted Stray Cat to be able to go home tonight to his People. I was so hopeful and happy when Chip scanned the stray cat & found a microchip. God bless Chip. He's grown up to be such a handsome man (who knew the boy I rode Big Wheels with would grow up to be a hottie?) and he does such great things for the animals of our community. (Chip runs the kennel/doggie daycare at the animal hospital - which is also the local intake hospital/kennel for the area's no-kill shelters). He was so gentle and sweet with the Stray Cat, and offered him a dish of wet food (which Stray Cat declined). It was sad to leave Stray Cat behind, but I know he's in capable hands with loving people who will give him his booster shots and feed him and groom him and trim his nails. And then they will find him a foster home in the shelter system and eventually he will be adopted and will have new People who will love him forever.
5:00 pm: Hubby is running late, so he won't be on the 6:00 train, he'll be on the 6:30 train. He doesn't know it yet, but he's taking me out to dinner! :)

The downside: I didn't get all of what I wanted to get done today accomplished.
The upside: I saved somebody's life and got the ball rolling so he could have a family & a home.

All of a sudden, I don't feel so bad about not accomplishing so much today. I think Mr. Stray Cat is somewhat thankful that I didn't too.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

My Dogs' Utopian Day

Hubby and I spent the morning sleeping in gloriously late. So did Bella and Katie.

After a late arising, I fixed a breakfast of french toast with blueberries for the people, while the pups feasted on organic, human-grade kibble. (Mmm, kibble.)

After breakfast, we all sat in the living room and watched Mind of Mencia on Tivo (have you seen this show? It's so incredibly rude, and yet hilarious at the same time. I die laughing.)

I suggested we take the Girls to the D-O-G P-A-R-K (the day the dogs learn how to spell, we're in serious trouble!) to run off some of their energy so they can chillax tonight during fireworks. We load 135 pounds of dogs in the back of the Jeep, grab a gallon of fresh water and away we go...

There are about 10 dogs already there with their people, and - the girls' favorite! - several kids there too. Bella and Katie are in HEAVEN, for all they know. They run and play and jump and take long, lazy sips of water from the communal water bowl. There are terriers and a bischon and some boxers. A lab and a newfie pup frolic in the fenced in giant dog play area. The girls play chase and fetch and give up the belly for the kids. An hour later, we head home.

As I type, Katie is zonked out on the sofa to my left and Bella is passed out at my feet. It's so much fun to see their huge, puppy grins at the park and to know you brought them that joy.

It makes me think how much greater it will be when we're showing The Baby all the fun, new things the world has to offer. I can't wait. I can't wait for that little baby nose and those tiny baby toes and that itty bitty baby butt to be all mine. I can't wait to bring my baby to the park and push the baby on the swing and see a smile bloom from ear to ear on that sweet baby face.

Monday, July 03, 2006

My husband will readily admit it sucks to always be wrong

It's the running joke in our house that I am "frequently right" (as I call it, to soften the blow) and hubby is "frequently wrong". This is starting to piss DH off a little, methinks.

During dinner tonight, hubby was all stressed out, brow furrowed in thought as he hashed over this project plan he has to do for work. I suggested a soak in the hot tub as a form of relaxation therapy (he doesn't believe in scream therapy like I do, but the hot tub usually works for him...unless of course there's a Hot Tub Humper in there as previously discussed on my old blog). Hubby says no, he has too much work to do before going back to the office.

After dinner, I pressured him a little more to accompany me. I feel really insecure going to the gym by myself in case I have a diabetes or pregnancy related problem. I feel better if he's with me. So after much deliberation, he relents and says fine, he'll go with me since I want to go.

So we go and we chill and we laugh at the memory of the HTH we saw last week, and we laugh at the fat overly tanned middle aged dude in the Speedo and then pop out of the tub like turkey timers when our 10 minutes of relaxation nirvana is up. We head to our respective locker rooms. I always shower off and get all those chemicals off of my skin & swimsuit, then wring out my suit in the suitmate swimsuit spinner (that thing rocks my socks) and dress. Hubby's always waiting for me in the lobby. I'm not sure he even takes the time to dry off his sack, he changes so much faster than I do.

Anyways, so I change and mosey on out to the lobby and hubby is there with a pissed off look on his face. He starts making all these heavy, exasperated sigh-ing noises and "tsk tsk tsk"ing away. I'm convinced he's mad at me for taking so long to shower and change. So I ask, "what's wrong?" thinking "what did I do NOW?" He says, "You just
gotta hear it, don't you?" I say "Hear what?", still clueless as to what he is referring to.

We get outside the gym doors, in privacy so no one else can hear his admission with regret - "You were right, I really needed the hot tub. I feel a lot better now, more relaxed."

I just chuckled and told him I was practicing my Mother's Intuition. He said I was doing a good job at that. I have a pretty good average going on at being right vs. his being wrong. I told him if I was picking racehorses at Arlington, we'd be millionaires by now. :D